


touch me there (and there, and there)

by julietophelia



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, Heathers: The Musical References, Toni Topaz Deserves Better, is this technically songfic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietophelia/pseuds/julietophelia
Summary: Jughead sat up against the headboard. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”“I don’t know yet. Anywhere but Riverdale.” She crossed the room in three determined strides. The soft mattress sank under her weight as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Cheryl said I’ve got to go.”“Since when are you afraid of Cheryl?”Dead Girl Walking, redux.
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Toni Topaz, Jughead Jones/Toni Topaz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	touch me there (and there, and there)

Toni picked over her basket of cold fries and watched the sun set through the diner window. Her duffel bag was safely tucked next to her on the booth, filled with a couple changes of clothes, her mother’s necklace, and stashed at the very bottom, a paper envelope full of cash, the remainder of her advance from Veronica.

She was wasting daylight. If she left now, she could at least get to Centreville and find a hostel to spend the night. Everyone knew you shouldn’t ride through Greendale after midnight.

Pop Tate’s amiable voice floated over to her. “You going somewhere?” he asked, eyeing her duffel bag. He wore a white apron and a friendly smile, and carried a coffee pot in his right hand. He looked exactly the same as every other time she’d seen him, since she was a little girl.

“Hey, Pop.” She looked at her bag, as if surprised by its presence. “Oh, this? It’s for school. Field hockey tryouts.”

He looked skeptical. “Right. Well, can I get you anything, Toni?”

“More coffee, please.”

She pushed her mug forward and Pop filled it.

“Thanks, Pop.” She smiled weakly. He nodded and went to the next table.

It was nearly dusk when Pop quietly slid a plate in front of her.

“Chocolate cupcake with raspberry frosting.” It was her favorite. He’d given her one on her birthday for as long as she could remember. She never got a birthday cake at home. She wasn’t worth the money. “On the house,” he said.

She remembered sitting in a booth all alone, her feet swinging well above the floor, Pop sliding her the cupcake with a single candle. Pop never made her pay.

She would miss Pop. There wasn’t much else about this town she’d miss.

…

She rode to Elm Street. It felt odd to be there. It felt even odder for Jughead to be there. Jughead was a northsider now. She supposed she’d become a northsider, too, technically.

She slipped off her jacket—black leather, not purple—and draped it over the handlebars of her bike. She never could have left her bag or her bike like this on the southside, when the southside still existed.

The Jones née Cooper house had two stories, white siding and a red door, the exact house you pictured when you heard the phrase “American dream.” When she was little, she might have called it a mansion. She had lived in a real mansion, and it had felt like a prison. There wasn’t enough space in the world to keep you from feeling trapped, if you lived with the wrong person.

She walked up the stone steps from the street to the walkway. The room on the side next to Archie’s house was the one she wanted, she knew. There were no trees close enough to climb. She considered throwing pebbles at the window, but then she noticed a ladder propped against the garage. She dragged it beneath the window and started to climb.

This was crazy. She should get back down and ride off before anyone noticed her. What if he turned her away? What if he wasn’t alone? That would be mortifying. She kept climbing. No matter what happened, she’d be gone by morning.

She’d been prepared to break the lock, but she found the window unlatched. It took some effort to slide it up from outside. Her knees landed on soft pillows.

Jughead stirred from the noise of her intrusion. “Toni? What are you doing here?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked again, eyes adjusting in the dark. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Sorry I woke you. I had to see you before I left.”

Jughead sat up against the headboard. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet. Anywhere but Riverdale.” She crossed the room in three determined strides. The soft mattress sank under her weight as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Cheryl said I’ve got to go.”

“Since when are you afraid of Cheryl?”

“I’m a lot more pathetic than I let on, Jones.” She laughed, pretending it was a joke, and drew her legs up onto the bed.

"What about school?"

"I'll figure it out. I can transfer, or get a GED."

He studied her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly.” She crawled further onto the bed and swung a knee over his hips. “I’m a dead girl walking. So I was thinking, how should I spend my last night on earth?”

“Toni?” He didn’t push her away.

She pulled on the zipper of her red sweater. “If you’ve ever wanted me, now’s your last chance.”

His eyes were wide black circles in the dark. He swallowed hard. “Why would you come here? You could do better for a last meal.”

She reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. “You were the only person I wanted to say goodbye to.”

He kissed her. He would regret this terribly by tomorrow, she knew. But she’d be gone by then.

Jughead pulled away. “This is crazy. Toni, think about this for a second.”

Her lipstick was smudged along his jawline and stained his mouth. In the moonlight, the vivid red looked dull and colorless.

“I have.” She felt giddy. “I think I’m going to ride you until I break you.”

He looked up at her with hazy eyes. “Works for me.”

She tore off her sweater and started on her jeans, shedding the offensive color that caused her exile. She couldn’t be bothered with her bra. A strap slipped off her shoulder. He pulled the cup aside to mouth at her breast.

It was much quicker to rid Jughead of his shirt and boxers. She placed a hand on his lean chest and sank down onto him.

Jughead’s hands wandered over the curve of her waist and down her hips. “You’re beautiful.”

She pressed a finger to his lips, then bent down to kiss him. “No more talking, okay?”

…

“I want to feel like this all the time,” she said, wrapped up in his arms.

He smiled, that smile that made her heart do somersaults. “I guess that means you have to stay,” he said.

No, that was exactly why she had to leave. “I’ll be a pariah. She’ll make everyone shut me out.”

Jughead nuzzled her neck, dotting a kiss behind her ear. “Do you really think I’d abandon you because Cheryl Blossom wanted me to?”

“I think you already did,” she said in a small voice.

His hold loosened around her, and a cold silence settled in the room. The fantasy was already broken.

“It’s okay,” she said. She turned on her side and looked up at him. “I’m not mad at you. Not anymore.”

He was far from the only one. Cheryl had shoved her, on stage in front of everyone, and not a single person had said a word. It had made her feel miserably alone, and confirmed what she already knew; no one was on her side.

“I really thought we were going to join forces, make a truce or something. I thought everything would work out in the end.”

She smiled and cupped his face with her palm. “So did I."

He kissed her, soft and sweet. She felt a tear on her cheek and wasn’t sure whose it was.

"You were my best friend, you know that?" she told him. "I've never really had that many friends." The few she had, she'd driven away.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “You’ll be here when I wake up, won’t you?”

She nodded.

“I’ll say goodbye to you in the morning.”

She rested her head on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. The moonlight reduced the dainty floral wallpaper to silver and gray, but she knew it must be pink. The room obviously belonged to Betty Cooper, preserved and waiting for her return.

She was lying in Betty Cooper’s bed, with Betty’s Cooper’s boyfriend. She wondered what it was like to have everyone think you were perfect, no matter what you did. She had always been Southside trash, the kind of girl people expected to sleep with other girls’ boyfriends, long before she had even been kissed.

She had been perfect, for a little while. The challenge of earning Cheryl’s affection was as rewarding as the prize. Her constant aching weariness allowed to feel like she deserved it. But no one could keep up that dance forever.

…

She woke up before dawn, with Jughead sound asleep beside her. His scarred shoulder was facing her, the raised patch of skin where the little stick-and-poke tattoo she'd given him had been cut away. She wondered how long he would miss her, and how long after that he would force himself to miss her. She slipped out of bed quietly and found her clothes.

She tore out a page from a notebook lying on the desk. “You don’t have to let this ruin your life,” she wrote, doubtful that it would make any difference. Jughead excelled at self-sabotage. She snuck out of the window and down the ladder, back to her bike, back to freedom.

Things would be better once she was away from this place, and these people. She could start fresh somewhere, and be the hero of her own story. Maybe no one loved her now, but someday, somebody would.


End file.
